Dear Roomie

by Kate Meader

  “Bast, last night—I went too far. I was upset about … something. Something else. And I was tired of being perceived as second-best. I needed to prove I deserved to be there. On that line, in that rink, with that team.” With her. “But, all that anger… I was just like him.”

  “What, like Luke and Vader?”

  “More like Vader and Palpatine.” Let the hate flow through you …

  “You’re not, Reid. You never could be.”

  Reid looked up, surprised at his brother’s heartfelt words.

  “You’re not like Henri,” Bast went on, “no matter what you might think.”

  Hearing his brother being so kind when he didn’t deserve it killed him.

  “You’ve always had these fond memories of when we were kids. Or you’ve chosen to forget the bad ones. Not sure if you did that for my sake or yours.” Reid struggled to push the words from his throat, tied to memories that shamed him. “But you know what I was like. How I bullied you. I was older and I was supposed to protect you—”

  “You did. Tommy Gunderson, remember?”

  Reid swiped at his eyes. “I beat him up because he hurt you but I wasn’t much better, Bast. I was jealous of how Henri loved you more. I wasn’t a good brother and I haven’t become a decent man.”

  Kennedy had said he was solid gold. Sold gold prick, more like. Last night he had reverted to that angry kid. He had hurt one of the people he loved more than anything and he needed to put it right.

  “I’m sorry for harming you, brother, years ago and last night.”

  His brother smiled, his emotion waving off him and enveloping Reid in a warm fraternal embrace. “I forgive you. I forgave you years ago, or I thought I had. But then I pulled my own shit and never stood up for you. Bystander revenge, I suppose. With Dad constantly on our backs, we somehow forgot what matters. You and me, the Amazing Durand Brothers!”

  Reid choked out a wet laugh. “That makes us sound like fucking carnies.”

  Bast chuckled. “Trapeze artists, bro. Now give me a hug without hurting my nose or wrist and tell me what the hell happened with Kennedy.”

  Reid was in Detroit. Kennedy knew this, not because he had told her, but because one of his color-coded schedules said so.

  They hadn’t spoken in two days. He hadn’t even come to see Bucky, though she knew he had stopped by while she was out because he emptied the dishwasher and took some clothes (she had gone into his closet to sniff his Henleys like a loser and noticed one of his suits was missing). Apparently he hated the idea of being in the same place as her so much that he was willing to ignore his dog. Only Reid would deny himself something he loved to avoid dealing with something he hated.

  Well, she didn’t have to play by his rules.

  Bucky lounged on the end of the sofa, looking his usual ugly-adorable self. She held up her phone, snapped a shot, and before she could second-guess the instinct, texted it to Reid with the caption: Ruff! I miss my daddy!

  The team would be at the hotel by now, maybe getting ready to head out for something to eat. Reid might be in the shower. For better or worse, he was a man of routine.

  A text came in thirty seconds later: I miss you, too. I hope you’re being a good boy for Kennedy.

  Cute. He understood that the message was from Bucky, and not her.

  Another one, almost immediately: And I hope you’re looking after her when she takes you outside, especially at night. Bark at all the strangers and anything in the bushes.

  Kennedy closed her eyes against the sting of tears. Not cute. That was just … oh God, why did he have to be such a soft-hearted lug under that jerkish exterior?

  I’ll do my best, she texted (or Bucky did). She claims she can kick all the ass but I’m there if she needs me.

  I know you are. And yes, Kennedy can take care of herself. But she doesn’t have to do it alone.

  She swiped at her eyes. The phone rang and Reid’s Chicago Rebels headshot came up. Composing herself, she answered.

  “Hi.”

  “Hi, roomie.”

  A small thing that filled a large hole. Through all this, she felt like she hadn’t just lost someone she loved, but the guy who was also her friend.

  “How’s Detroit?”

  “I’m not there because I was suspended for a game. I’m staying with Bast.”

  He was in the city? That was even worse. But it was a good sign that he was with his brother. “How’s he doing?”

  “Okay. He’ll be out for a while so that’s weighing on him.” And on Reid, too, no doubt. “Thanks for sending that pic of Bucky. I’ve missed him.”

  “You could see him at any time. I know you don’t want to—” see me “—because it might be awkward. But he’s yours.”

  Long pause. “I need the space, and you need to be safe.”

  Space from her. “This is your home, Reid.”

  “It’s just four walls and some furniture.” He cleared his throat. “I need a favor.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be flying with Bast to Toronto on Christmas Eve to visit our mom, but I can’t take Bucky on the plane. After how I spoke to you the other night, I know I have no right to ask, but will you watch him over the holiday? I expect to be back on the 26th. That should give you plenty of time to wrap up things.”

  Christmas was four days away and she’d barely given it any thought. Two days ago she had been ready to tear up her ticket to Bangkok and tell Reid how she really felt.

  Instead she was wrapping up things.

  Having spent so long chasing the sun, she had forgotten what it felt like to enjoy it. That’s how she had felt with Reid, filled with joy and hope. With him all good feelings rushed in, filling the crevices around her heart with love putty. Reid and Bucky had healed her, yet a sharp word from this man still had the capacity to rip it all asunder. Now all she felt was a cold distance.

  If he didn’t want to see her, fine. But surely they could act like adults and speak their truths.

  Hers? That she loved Reid Durand. It hurt to love him, but she suspected it would hurt more not to.

  His? She wasn’t sure. There was no doubt he had opened up in the last few weeks. His heart had softened, ready to love a misfit dog, a team of rabble-rousers, and his brother despite the envy. But she wasn’t sure that love extended to himself.

  Until he figured out how to forgive himself, then he wouldn’t be ready to love her.

  “I can look after him. But I really should move out so you can live in your own place.”

  “You’re staying there, Kennedy. I want both of you where I know you’re safe. Don’t argue with me on this. And if you have some recommendations for dog sitters, I’d appreciate it.”

  Right, she would have to do that. She had promised all along that she would because from day one, she’d had her foot out the door just like Reid said.

  “I can do some research.”

  “Thanks. I should get going.”

  “Sure, say hi to—” He had already hung up. Some things never changed.

  35

  There was a reason Reid wasn’t a mixer, and that reason was now banging against his head and telling him that he was currently in the worst place with the worst people at the worst time.

  Attendance at the Rebels Holiday Party was apparently non-negotiable.

  The team had returned from Detroit with a loss, but spirits were currently being revived with ones of the alcoholic and seasonal variety. The NHL was unique in pro sports, in that they scheduled a mandatory break over the holidays. Their next game was at home on the 27th and the mood tonight was definitely festive because of it.

  Reid looked around, noting that every one of his teammates had a date, like they were trying to punk him or something. Well, he’d be out of here as soon as the brass made a speech or two.

  As if Reid had willed it into action, someone clinked a glass and Harper Chase’s voice rose above the hubbub of the crowd. “Hello, friends and family. Thanks so much for joining us
tonight as we celebrate the season with each other. And I mean, both seasons: holiday and hockey. We are doing well, thanks to a great roster, both new and o—”

  “Veteran, minou,” Remy called out, which made everyone laugh.

  “Thanks, darling. Always catching me when I fall.”

  The look they shared was pure love, kind of like how he felt about Bucky.

  “I wanted to welcome some of you to the Rebels fam and your first holiday gathering. Cal, Dex, and Reid—we’re thrilled you’re here, making the team stronger. Cheers to you all!”

  Everyone raised glasses, while Reid gave his usual awkward half-smile. Despite the suspension, no one had given him a hard time or hinted that it spelled the end of his time as a Rebel. Likely someone would call him into the front office after the holiday and tell him he was surplus to requirements.

  Harper went on. “And I know there’s been some speculation about who would take over chief executive duties and I’m thrilled to tell you that our new GM is here tonight. Fitz, say hi to everyone.”

  A big-shouldered bruiser of a guy in a suit appeared from behind a potted plant. Hale Fitzgerald, known as Fitz, formerly the assistant GM in Philly. With the previous GM, Dante Moretti, retired as a stay-at-home dad, the Rebels needed new blood at the top.

  “Didn’t expect to be put on the spot, Harper,” he said in a deep Georgian accent. “Well, Rebels, you’ve had a good start to the season and are on your way. I’m looking forward to the magic we’re going to make together. To a winning year.” He raised his glass.

  Yeah, winning.

  Screw this. Toasts done and dusted, Reid headed into the kitchen at Chase Manor to put his glass in the sink. This shindig was catered but he always felt weird about leaving an empty on a tray or a counter. Now he could leave, having shown his face.

  “How’s your brother?” That instantly recognizable Cajun drawl announced the arrival of Remy DuPre, Rebels elder statesman, married to the boss.

  “He’ll live.”

  “It happens, you know. On-ice meltdowns.”

  Remy knew all about it. He’d had a very famous one several years ago when he beat up a player who had struck the woman who was now his wife.

  Reid studied him, assessing for shade. He and Bast had a good talk yesterday. There would be more of them, and they were definitely on the right road, but Reid couldn’t change his personality overnight. He needed time to accept his brother’s goodwill and forgiveness.

  “Family stuff, it’s complicated.”

  “I know it. Heard you’re on the outs with your girl.”

  Gossiping hens, the lot of them. “Do you have some advice to give me, old man?”

  “Old man? You’re killin’ me, Durand.”

  Casey, Harper’s assistant walked into the kitchen. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t realize anyone was here.”

  “Pas de probleme,” Remy said, just as Casey turned and walked into Erik Jorgenson. She jumped back and held up her hands.

  Jorgenson was always so good-humored and laid-back, but this minute looked about as agitated as Reid had ever seen him.

  “So that’s it?” Erik said to Casey. “We’re not even going to talk about it?”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” Casey walked back out the way she had come.

  Reid didn’t need to know the specifics to feel Erik’s obvious pain. “You all right, Fish?”

  Erik merely shrugged and walked through the kitchen in the opposite direction to Casey.

  Reid turned to Remy. “And that’s why relationships and hockey do not mix. Too many distractions.”

  Of course it would help if the absence of Kennedy wasn’t providing the ultimate distraction. Once she had left the country or the planet or the galaxy, he might be able to return to his usual Zen calm.

  “Yeah, I probably could have done with fewer distractions in my playing days,” Remy said. “But, hey, it’s life—one long distraction. And it worked out.”

  Reid wouldn’t usually bite, but DuPre was one of his favorite players and he hadn’t had a chance to talk to him much since he was acquired by the Rebels. “You mean the Cup win in your retirement year?”

  “Yeah, I sure did cut it fine.” Remy chuckled in fond memory.

  Cut it fine? There were a million reasons why the Rebels shouldn’t have won that year. New ownership by three half-sisters who barely knew—or liked—each other. The label of second worst team in the league. Led by the man beside him, who was on the butt end of his career. It was a perfect storm of shit yet somehow it all came together for a magical season.

  It had Reid curious, though. “Why do you think you won? I mean, on paper it was never going to work. It shouldn’t have happened that way.”

  Reid had studied the tapes of the playoff games that season. Five years had passed since they won the Cup, and while they had been in contention since, they hadn’t scaled those dizzy heights again. The team had good players back then, some still on the roster: Burnett, Petrov, DuPre, Callaghan, St. James, Jorgenson. United Nations of Badass, someone called them. But they’d had good players the last couple of seasons, too. What was it about this combination that turned those zeroes into heroes?

  “I guess it shouldn’t have,” Remy said, stroking his chin. “In fact, that year was personally momentous for most of us. It should have thrown us off, screwed us up, messed with our minds, but instead it made us stronger. We were all finding our soul mates while we discovered the recipe that worked to form a winning band of brothers.” He smiled that pirate’s grin. “You’re too young, maybe, to be thinking about settling down. But me? I was ready during that season. Had my sights set on some imaginary little homemaker who would bake cookies, fix me a bourbon, and let me fill her with babies.”

  Remy smirked. “Yeah, I know, I know. I was pissed at being traded to this shit team. I felt my last shot slipping away. And I had a chance to trade out just before the deadline. We were getting better but not that much better. I could’ve had a shot with a different team but I’d fallen for the team owner and when I say fallen, I mean flat on my beautiful face. This woman had me, body and soul, and I knew there was nowhere I’d rather be. I’d already won the prize. The Cup was just gravy.”

  Reid hoped his face was as blank as he wished it to be. Inside, his organs were gallivanting, moving around, swapping places. He read a lot of sports memoirs and psychology treatises. He watched game after game, searching for the clues to what produced a winner. Talent wasn’t enough. Graft helped, but even that was just another string to the bow rather than the whole damn weapon.

  It was something indefinable. Some it factor that Reid had been grasping for.

  He had always viewed a player’s personal relationships as a liability, especially romantic ones. Sure some players were happily settled with kids, a stable home life that evened them out. But the journey there was usually momentous, filled with potholes and detours that threw a player off his game. It was why Reid had ruled it out as a contributory factor to being the best. The dip in his play wasn’t worth it because he didn’t see that the end would ever justify the means.

  He refused to believe he could ever be as happy as the man before him. He glowed with it. Yet Reid recognized that look, the emotions that accompanied it. He’d had a glimpse of it in his own life these past few weeks …

  “Good thing it worked out. You picked right.”

  Remy shook his head. “No, that’s the thing. I didn’t pick, the team picked me. Or I should say the woman did. C’est tout.” That’s all.

  “It sounds … random.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Remy laughed, like it had just occurred to him. “But it’s a powerful force, that surprise when your best laid plans disintegrate before your eyes. It doesn’t always have to be so rigid, mon ami. You can enjoy a trip or two down those side roads.”

  But to let chance or happenstance have such an influence on the outcome of your life? Reid didn’t buy that. He’d tried it and look at where it had landed him: alo
ne and hurting.

  And Christ, it did hurt. More than he would have thought possible. The high … he wasn’t sure it was worth feeling this low.

  “I control what I can. It’s the only way I know how to do it.” It was about as honest as Reid had ever been about his drive to succeed.

  “Sure, I see you doing that. We all think we’re doing that. But I also see that good things have come from Coach switching you to center. Bet you never thought that would be where you ended up heading into the new year?”

  Reid shook his head.

  “Just sayin’ be open to another viewpoint. And never underestimate the power of positive emotion to make you perform.”

  “Just running on my competitive streak.”

  “Oui, sure you are. I think you’re happy, Reid. Keep it up and it might be enough to get you a contract.”

  A contract? Was Remy clueing him into something he’d heard behind closed doors at Chase Manor or during pillow talk with the boss? He opened his mouth to ask only to be interrupted by a new arrival.

  “Duracell!” Kershaw bounded in like a puppy. “Where’s Kennedy?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  Theo flicked a look to Remy, then back to Reid. “She said she might be able to help me with some business stuff. But if she’s not here …”

  “She’s my roommate, that’s all, so why would she be here?”

  “Leave him alone, Superglutes.” Cal waltzed in and put his beer bottle in the recycling bin.

  “Don’t need your defense, Foreskin.”

  Cal burst out laughing.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “You, acting like you don’t care about anything but your damn dog. So you had a fight with your girl. We’ve all been there.”

  “All been where?” Gunnar Bond appeared, chewing on a cookie.

  Theo pointed. “Is that gingerbread?”

  “Yep, there’s a tray of it in the other room.”

  Theo left the kitchen faster than the first line on a breakaway, shouting over his shoulder, “Don’t start Duracell’s intervention without me!”